


consumed by the fire (but you are safe)

by DaphneTheAdipose



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Aziraphale whump, Canon Divergent, Fanfiction of Fanfiction, Gen, Kidnapping, Poor Angel, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:03:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaphneTheAdipose/pseuds/DaphneTheAdipose
Summary: The Arrangement is discovered. Heaven decides to outsource Aziraphale’s punishment.AU of episode 4.





	consumed by the fire (but you are safe)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [fell in love with the fire long ago](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086289) by [LogicalBookThief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief). 



> I really recommend reading the work that inspired this. For reading this better, but also because I really like it. This is just me wanting to fill the gap in the story, because it just sprung up on my word document before I really noticed.
> 
> My story should read fine on its own, but that's only because I borrowed the text in italics from the original inspired work.
> 
> Enjoy!

_"Don't think your boyfriend in the dark glasses will get you special treatment in Hell," sneers Uriel, and Aziraphale is about to ask what she means by that when he's grabbed from behind, unable to utter so much as a shout as he's dragged below the concrete, towards the fiery pits._

_The last thing he sees before the Earth swallows him whole is Michael, watching him flail with something akin to satisfaction. With a sinking note of despair, Aziraphale realizes that Crowley was right, after all; there will be no heavenly intervention on his behalf._

The moment his descent stops, Aziraphale starts to fight. Even if his situation looks bleak, he will not give up. Heaven has given him over to Hell, there won’t be any help from them, not ever. If he wants to get out of Hell, because surely that’s where he is now, he will have to rely on himself. Crowley is surely gone to the stars now, he couldn’t rescue him.

Aziraphale was alone.

And being pursued by two demons through the halls of Hell.

“Get him!” 

“Come back here you!”

“Hastur, he went that way!”

“No, Ligur! He went the other way!”

Aziraphale shudders from his temporary hiding space, a small alcove behind a corner, but the darkness inherent to Hell hides him well enough. He hears them traipsing off into the other direction and sighs in relief.

Hastur and Ligur. Two Dukes of Hell. They are nearly as important as the Archangels up above. He’d heard Crowley complain enough about them. No imagination whatsoever, but ruthless in the methods they know. 

He dares to think he’s escaped them, when slow footsteps herald their return back.

“Come here, little Angel. There’s nowhere to run.” Hastur singsongs, if that’s what you can call it. Horribly out of tune and he adds a delirious laugh to it. 

“We can find you anywhere in here! It reeks of goodness here.” 

Too close! 

Aziraphale runs to another hallway, but Ligur jumps from behind him, holding him in a chokehold. And then Hastur joins him. The chokehold is thankfully released but their hands dig into his arms, holding him tightly, bruising.

“We’ve got you now, Angel.” Hastur croons mockingly, bastardising that nickname he loves so much. Angel. Crowley calls him Angel. But there is none of his affection in their voice, no hint of teasing. No, dare he say it, love that he is so used to hear from his demon. 

“Why did you ally with the Angels? You will gain nothing from me.” Aziraphale asks desperately, struggling with their grip but it just won’t give. 

“Oh but with you in our hands, Crowley will soon be here too. You two are friends, are you not? I don’t know how that is even possible, but that traitor will do as we say so long as we have you.” 

“He will not!” Aziraphale cries. “Crowley left.” And it was his fault. Why couldn’t he just share his discoveries with Crowley?

They drag him into a room and Aziraphale tries once more to escape his captors’ grip, kicking Hastur in the legs. The grip loosens and he feels a faint hope, but forgets Ligur. Who then punches him in the face and follows it up with another one in his stomach. Aziraphale doubles over, as far as he can with the other demon recovered from the kick and keeping a tight grip on his arms once again. While he’s dazed from the punch, he barely notices them forcing him into a chair. The restraints are harder to ignore with how tight they’re tying them. 

“Crowley’s gone.” He tries to reason again, even though he knows that that’s futile with these demons. They’re not like Crowley. But Crowley’s not here and for once that’s good. For once that means that Crowley’s safe even if Aziraphale is not. “You don’t gain anything from keeping me here.” 

“Angels are really stupider than they look.” Sneers Hastur. “Even if that traitor will not come, Heaven left you for us to do as we wish. This is gonna be lots of fun for us.” They both laugh. 

“And when Crowley comes, it’s gonna be even funner.” Ligur snickers.

Aziraphale keeps his calm. They want him terrified, pleading and in pain, but he’s not going to give them that. He’s an Angel of the Lord, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, the Principality Aziraphale. He has his pride in that. 

The demons don’t much like that. His quiet defiance earns him a slap across his face and he feels just the tiny bit dizzy from it combined with the general air in Hell. How did Crowley ever endure it here?

Hastur calls Hellfire to his hand and Aziraphale locks his body to keep from flinching. The demon laughs and throws the ball of fire at his feet and it surrounds him immediately. For a terrifying moment Aziraphale thinks that this is the end; his defiance has bored his captors and they decided to finish the job. But he’s not burned, the fire having instead surrounded his chair. Far enough not to kill him, but close enough to still affect him. A perfect prison for an Angel. Aziraphale would have praised the ingenuity if he wasn’t the victim of it. 

The demons laugh and jeer at him before finally leaving him alone in the room, set on finding Crowley. He doesn’t consider the fact that it’s also because they can’t stand to be in his presence any longer, his brightness that much brighter for the gloom of Below. It would have brought him some cheer.

For now there’s nothing to gain cheer from. He’s positive he looks awful. His face aches from the abuse it had suffered as do other parts of his body. His coat is positively filthy. 180 years of keeping it in impeccable condition, he sighs. No miracle will ever restore it. Not that he will ever be able to perform another miracle, not while trapped in Hell. And that's the least of it.

He tries to move his arms, but the restraints don’t move an inch, only painfully cutting into his wrists the more he tries. And even if he manages to get out of them, there’s still the Hellfire that he definitely can’t get out of. The breath he takes is full of heat and parches his throat. The fire dances around him and though it doesn’t touch, he feels the effects of the uncomfortable heat of it. 

He really didn’t feel all that good. The Hellfire of course. Besides its infernal heat, it had the most malevolent feeling about it. He could feel something like a headache coming up, only more spiritual. It had the effect of feeling slightly bruised all over his body but more internally, slowly but surely seeping his celestial energies. Leaving him cold in his soul.

And through it all it’s still hot, unbearably hot and he despairs for a moment of how this may very well be how he will spend eternity, the demons definitely being cruel enough to just leave him there. 

He feels helpless and alone. The only comfort in this is that Crowley by now should be far far away, somewhere in Alpha Centauri. He won’t suffer for his stupid mistake.

He’s tired.

But Crowley is safe. His mistake, his carelessness not Crowley’s, so he must suffer for it. It’s not fair, but he can find some peace in it. He can endure- he will endure whatever Hell throws at him as long as it means that Crowley is safe.

Crowley’s in the stars. Far from the Earth, far from him, but as long as Hell doesn’t get his hands on him that doesn’t matter. If he repeats it enough, it will bring him enough comfort. Maybe distract him from the ache that’s slowly becoming painful. His parched throat. His dizzy head. Oh, maybe he shouldn’t move too much, it will hurt less.

It doesn’t matter. 

Crowley is safe, Crowley is safe, Crowley is safe, Crowley is safe.

Crowley is-

“Aziraphale!”

Here?

He lifts his head (when did he put it down?) to see the impossible vision unfolding before his eyes.

“Crowley?”

**Author's Note:**

> And from there you can read in 'fell in love with the fire long ago' how the story ends.
> 
> Thank you for reading this humble piece of mine.


End file.
